Forever Young
by James Doyle
Summary: Aging slowly due to her genetic code, Max must deal with the marked difference between Logan's physiological age and hers, and his eventual death.


Standard Disclaimer: All characters and events in Dark Angel remain the property of 20th Century Fox. You could sue me if you want, but as the old adage goes, "You can't get blood from a turnip!" The rest of the family tree is a figment of my imagination. If I'm wrong about any names and dates, please let me know.

Author's Note: This story is a variation on some of the same themes presented in Epilogue, with some updated information from the episode "Rising" (I think that's what it's called. In any case, I mean to say the episode that originally aired 2/13/2001.)

Without further ado…

# Forever Young

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**By **

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**W.B. Bites**

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From the memoirs of Maxine Guevara Cale:

Friday, March 3, 2062

Today was a day I'd as soon forget as not, but I'll record its events just the same.

It started when I left the house this morning. I had to attend yet another parent/teacher conference on behalf of my son, Zack. For some reason, God only knows what, he just can't seem to keep himself out of trouble. Logan just shrugs it off, saying he takes after his mother. I suppose that's partly true.

This is usually the kind of thing where I bring Logan along for moral support. As fate would have it, however, today just had to be the day he broke down and saw the doctor. I swear, if that Murphy guy weren't already dead, I'd kill him.

It turns out the problem wasn't with something Zack did at all, but something I did, or rather, something I _allegedly_ did. A week ago, Zack forgot his Tryptophan, and had a really bad seizure in school. His friend Jamie told his mother about the incident, who automatically assumed Zack was a crack-baby, and called Child Services on my ass.

"These are very serious accusations, Mrs. Cale. How do you plan to answer them?" Mrs. Finch, the Principal demanded.

"I won't dignify them with an answer. This is absolutely ridiculous! Zack has an X-dominant genetic disorder. I have it, all his aunts and uncles have it, my mother had it, and her mother had it. It's all in Zack's file, which you might have checked before putting me on trial! And I don't even get to face my accuser!"

"Mrs. Cale, you're not on trial. However, when Mrs. Ortega looked over Zachary's file, she found some things she thought to be very questionable…um, that is to say…"

I'd just caught Finch in a Freudian slip, which I'd use to nail her ass to the wall.

"Let me get this straight: you let some busy-body yuppie bitch view my son's file, without my knowledge or consent, nor my husband's?"

"Mrs. Ortega is one of our most generous benefactors, Mrs. Cale…" (I knew we should've sent Zack to a public school. )

"I don't care if she's the fucking governor!"

"Mrs. Cale, I can understand that you're upset…"

I leaned across the desk so as to seem intimidating, but not necessarily threatening.

"All right, here are your options: One, we can forget this whole thing ever happened, or two, I can sue your condescending bourgeois ass six ways to Sunday!"

Finch swallowed hard. "I think I prefer the former."

"I figured you'd see it that way. You have yourself a good weekend, now." I said as I collected my son and walked out the door.

As I got in the car, the ignition system wouldn't recognize my DNA signature. In the old days this wouldn't have been a problem. Hell, I could still hotwire a Herrier jet if need be. However, that life was behind me now, and I tried to do things the civilized way as much as possible.

Sometimes, however, it wasn't possible, like the situation back in Finch's office. Mrs. Ortega had been right, of course: Zack's file was pure fabrication (being Mrs. Eyes Only does have its benefits.)However, even if Manticore had stopped looking for me a long time ago, I still couldn't have the whole world knowing that my children were second-generation trans-gens. So I handled the situation the way I'd been trained to handle any negotiation. I looked for a bargaining chip, and Finch dropped one square in my lap. Sometimes you just get lucky.

My argument with myself became academic. I got the car started, and we headed home.

"Are you sick, mommy?" my son asked, referring to my gynecological appointment earlier that day.

"No, honey. Mommy's just fine."

The truth was, Zack would soon have a little baby sister, but I wanted to tell Logan first. It would be good for Zack to have a sibling. My daughter Susan (named for Logan's mother) was older than Zack, but they had never been close. He being eight years old, and she thirty-five, he thought of her more as a really cool aunt than a sister.

The road to Vancouver was a steady steam of cars cruising a hundred meters above Puget Sound. It never ceased to amaze me that ordinary people were piloting contraptions that would've confused the hell out of Air Force pilots fifty years ago. I still liked to take my Ninja out on the ancient roads every now and again. However, I learned to drive an anti-gravity personal conveyance vehicle ("Sky-can," was the slang term) as soon as they came out. I tried to stay with the program as much as possible.

About ten minutes after we school, we crossed the Canadian border. At least that's what it was in my younger days. Now, it was just the border between the States of Washington and British Columbia, both sovereign states in the United Earth Alliance. With a few notable exceptions, the human race was one big happy family. It kind of made me feel good to know that I'd played a big part in making it happen.

As we entered the suburbs north of Vancouver, I used the designated landing ramp to bring the car down to street level, and deployed the wheels. Ah, this was more my style! A few more turns, and we'd be home.

Our house was big, but not exactly what you'd call a mansion. Logan and I had agreed to keep it simple, and for the most part, we did. I pulled into the garage and shut off the car. Parked toward the rear of the garage were my Ninja and Logan's old Aztec, both mementos of the misadventures of our youth.

Zack went upstairs to play, and I went into the living room. I found Logan where he was always to be found at five in the evening: sitting in front of the holocube, watching the news.

"You want me to cook dinner?" I asked Logan.

"No, that's all right. I've got it covered," he replied without looking away from the cube.

"That's the third time this week Logan."

"Consider the alternative," he smirked.

"Are you insulting my cooking? Seriously, you haven't been feeling well. Let me handle things for awhile"

"I'm not an invalid, Max. Besides, it's already in the oven."

"Coolio."

This was one argument that Logan always won.

At the dinner table, I broke the news regarding the member of our family. Zack was absolutely thrilled at the thought of having a baby sister. Logan, on the other hand, was another story. He didn't seem very enthused at all. In fact, he almost seemed indifferent. I made a mental note to ask him about it later.

After I put Zack to bed (always a chore when it isn't a school night), I went into the bathroom to change out of my clothes (since marrying Logan, I'd always slept nude) and brush my teeth. The latter was more social than hygienic. Bacteria the world over feared my genetically engineered Manticore teeth.

As I washed my face, I took a good look at myself in the mirror. Here I was, sixty-one years old, and looking into the face of a forty-year-old. A line here, a gray hair there, but nothing revealed itself that would give a clue as to my real age. I finished my ritual and climbed into bed, where Logan already was, reading.

"You know, maybe I should have invited Susan over for dinner before I broke the news." I suggest in retrospect.

Logan shook his head. "Phoenix is a four-hour drive. Hardly seems worth it. Besides, if the way she reacted when we told her you were pregnant with Zack was any indication, she'd probably have a heart attack."

I laughed. "That wasn't nearly as funny as Emily's reaction."

I was referring to my granddaughter, who told all her friends the next day that she'd soon have a baby uncle.

Logan sighed.

"Something wrong?"

"Just thinking about all these beautiful olive-skinned children we've brought into the world. If it weren't for their last name, nobody would guess they came from Washington State's longest line of narcissistic elitist self-important White Anglo-Saxon Protestants. It's just as well. Sometimes I wish I hadn't."

"Now, why don't you tell me what's really going on? It's something the doctor told you, isn't it?"

Logan nodded. "The bone cancer's back. The doctor gave me three months to live, if that."

I jumped out of bed. "Shit! You need a transfusion right now."

"A transfusion won't do it, Max."

"All right, then we'll have to make an appointment and do another marrow transplant." 

"That's not what I meant, Max. This time it's for real. There's no going back. I'm dying."

I held his head between my palms. "You listen to me, Logan! You are _not_ dying! We've been through this before, and we'll do it again."

"I know what you're gonna say, Max. That you want our daughter to have a father."

I hated to admit it, but he was right. "Not just our daughter, Logan. Zack's been having a really tough time lately. The last thing he needs is to watch his father die."

"Max, the last thing he needs is to watch his father die _slowly_. The sad truth is I've been withering away for some years now. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me, Max, but we've really just been delaying the inevitable."

I started to cry, something I rarely did, even nowadays.

"Logan, do you really want your daughter to grow up without a father?"

"I'd rather she picture me for the man I was than see me for the decrepit old shell of a man I've become."

"That's not true…"

"It is, Max. I'm seventy-five years old. I'm a grandfather; soon to be a great-grandfather, but we won't go there." He referred to our granddaughter Emily, who at age fifteen, was expected a child. "It's my time, Max."

"That just leaves one problem, Logan: how could I live without you?" I never thought I'd admit to something like that.

"You did just fine before we met, Max, and you'll do fine long after I'm gone. And you'll always be the way you are."

"Logan, you know as well as I do that the stem cells slow the aging process, but they don't stop it." I kicked myself in the ass mentally for ruining the sentiment. Logan replaced it with one just as touching.

"And that brings me to my only regret: we never got to grow old together."

I sat on the bed and threw my arms around him. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Max. It'll be okay. I promise."

Monday, May 1, 2062

Logan passed away on Saturday; just one day after our great-granddaughter was born. We had a lovely graveside service this morning. The reception was outdoors as well, in a park about 20 miles north of town. For reasons unknown, I didn't cry. That's not to say I wasn't hurting. I just kept it inside. I'd been trained not to show emotion, and when I was in public, I usually still didn't.

I tried to get in touch with some of my old Jam Pony co-workers, without success. As soon as the Pulse Depression blew over, we all went our separate ways, and never heard from each other again. Even though my daughter Susan, her husband Louis, Emily, and her newborn daughter Jessica were there, I felt very much alone.

As I thought about my old friends, I actually started to miss Normal. Having been middle-aged when I first met him, he'd passed away about a decade ago. Sadness came over me, for I knew that I'd probably outlive all of them. Based on some Manticore data Logan had managed to get his hands on, it was conceivable that I'd live to be a hundred and forty, or older. My children (and their children, and their children, et cetera) would live just as long, since their bone marrow produced the same stem cells that mine did. The good news was they'd outlive all of their enemies. The bad news was they'd all outlive their spouses, and their friends, and basically everyone they cared about. The only constant in their lives would be their fellow Manticorians.

Perhaps Don Lydecker would get the last laugh, after all.

Saturday, November 11, 2062

My daughter was born today, much to my surprise and horror. My son Zachary was born nine years ago today, and my late husband Logan seventy-six. I wondered if it was a birthday that would come up often in my family. To mark the occasion, I updated my family tree:

Francis CaleSusan Burrows-CaleIndeterminate Number of Unknown Parents

1955-20091960-2016|

|__________________||

||

Logan CaleMaxine Guevara Cale

b. 11 Nov 1986b. 15 Oct 2000

d. 06 May 2062|

|________________________________________________|

|||

Erin Kendra CaleZachary Ronald CaleSusan Lucinda Cale EgleeLouis A. Eglee

b. 11 Nov 2062b. 11 Nov 2053b. 02 Feb 2027b. 01 Apr 2018

|_______________________|

|

Emily Maxine Eglee(unknown)

b. 14 Jan 2047|

|______________|

|

Jessica Marie Eglee

b. 28 Apr 2062

No doubt about, I was part of a crazy family. But maybe with their help, I'd get through all of this. And maybe someday, I'd return the favor.

The End


End file.
